


A Shocking Tale from the Mausoleum

by suhdude



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C.
Genre: Minor plot, Oral, Other, Penetration, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Smut, but like in a gothic way, frankenpapa, im fine, implied vagina, reader is ambigous gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhdude/pseuds/suhdude
Summary: Something wills you to visit his resting site, what does it want?





	A Shocking Tale from the Mausoleum

The mausoleum was a place you had been avoiding since he had been placed there. The funeral was a large matter but the entombment had been surprisingly small affair. In a way it was nice. Quiet, for a man who lived such a loud life. It seemed fitting for there to be peace as he was laid to rest. This also meant you could sneak a memento to properly mourn. 

The day of the funeral had been cool but sunny, but, a storm was brewing now. Evening began to arrive and so did a static in the air, the greenery released a smell, calling to the rain. The large windows in your room letting the breeze usher the smell in. The wind softly whistling.

You lie in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, thin nightgown tangling around your legs as you toss and turn. Even in the cool room you begin to sweat. The down comforter becoming suffocating hot. It’s like the wind is singing less than howling as it comes through the billowing curtains. Any other day you would have just closed them but you could feel it. Something is off. Calling. 

It's like a fog is filling your mind. Slowly at first, foregoing putting on slippers and feeling the cool wood floor under bare feet. Then thicker as you don’t even reach for a dressing coat. Thicker, as the smell from the main fireplace fills your nose and you don’t grab your storm lantern. Thicker, as the large door closes itself behind you, rain starting to prick at your face. You have to go. To mourn him. He needs you. 

The rain quickly transforms from a drizzle to a downpour and the rough cobblestones beneath you to lush grass. You hadn’t even realized you had passed through the cast iron gates until you bump into a small grave marker. You drift on. 

Trees were placed carefully around the mausoleum. It was decorated and protected without being out of sight. The drenched fabric of your nightgown clings to you as the detailed stone building grows ever closer. Fresh flowers lay on the steps along with the ones from the entombment. An iron grucifix adorned its highest peak. Your foot crushes white roses. Some petals still soft, others beginning to dry and flake. The gate in the entryway was left unlocked and the door stands ajar. 

You saw them bring the coffins in, but, you hadn’t been in the structure before. The high windows are stained glass and there are small benches in front of each of the stone sarcophagi. They weren’t in niches like you had expected. Instead, they lay on ornate stones. More flowers lay around them.

You find your hand on top of the stone that encased him. Details you can’t quite see in the dark dancing across your fingertips as your hand drags along the stone. Small strips of metal that had been worked in were cooler than the stone, but just hardly. Before long, tears sting at your eyes. Like the rain, slow at first, pouring then next. There is some space beside the sarcophagus, so, you sit slowly, draping your body over the carefully carved lid. Tears hit the small crests and divots. Flowers knocked off by your movements. The smell of them is both grounding and awful. A reminder that you are still alive, a reminder that he isn’t. 

The rain beats down on the mausoleum. Lightning strikes. It isn’t far off. The great booms shake you to the core, knocking the fog from your mind. The risk of being struck is too high. You would have to stay the night or you may find yourself in a coffin too. You were trapped for the night.

After wiping your face, you move to the adjacent bench. It was large enough to lay down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lay all the way down. Lightning strikes, stained glass washing the pale room with colour. A boom of thunder didn’t take long. Another flash, another wash of colour, another closer boom. Every strike seemes to change the colour a tad. Clothes still damp, you curl in on yourself slightly. The small bowls of salt on the window ledges seemed to be keeping the damp off of the room, but, there is a chill none the less. The door remains ajar but the wind comes from the opposite direction. At least in here the rain wouldn’t pummel you. 

Sleep beckons. You find yourself drifting but not able to fully succumb. You're comfortable, but you can’t rest. It’s hard to tell whether it’s the fact you are surrounded by corpses or the looming threat of electrocution, then, it happens.

A gigantic flash. Bright. Blinding. A horrible snapping sound echoes though your head. Your ears ring like funeral tolls at a cathedral. 

Everything quakes. You hold onto yourself to stay grounded, happy that your feet had stayed off of the floor. The tomb across from you slows its trembling but you can hardly help yours. A shaky breath is pulled from you. It’s the storm. It’s just the storm. Still shaken, you focus on the things around you to try and re-ground. The ceiling is tall, the bench under you is smooth, the room smells like flowers and the atmosphere is thick from the strike. It’s still there. The room is still. 

You look down at the ground, hard as it is, you try and count the flowers scattered around you. The creaking of stone on stone invades your ears. Your head snaps to the door. It is unmoved. Your eyes slowly trail to the sarcophagus in front of you. Forcing yourself to breath deeply, you lean in. It’s fine, you tell yourself, just your imagination, the storm is playing tricks on you. But, you see it move again. And again. The stone shifts and screeches against itself. The lid slides slowly back towards the wall. Chills climb up your spine like disembodied fingers. 

The top falls behind the rest of the set. Dread fully sets in.

Slowly, he rises. Smoke surrounds him. His torso is bolt upright.

You can’t help the heavy breath you draw in, not able to force the air back out to form a scream. Instead, all that escapes you is a whimper. 

His head begins to turn, mechanically, to you. His jaw opens slightly, air is the only thing that comes out.

His eyes are locked on you. Every bit of your mind tells you to run, to hide, to get away, but, your body doesn’t move. Every inch of you seems to be paralyzed. Your eyes are glued to him, wide, unblinking, horrified.

His torso follows in turning to you. Shoulders tight. Robes almost as stiff as his movements.

You shake.

Surely you fell asleep, you tell yourself, yes, a nightmare, nothing more, you’ll blink and open your eyes to your warm bed, your cushiony pillows and the sun shining through the windows.

You finally squeeze your eyes closed.

Creaking. Stone on stone. Then footsteps, closer and closer they grow. You can feel a presence. Close enough to touch.

A silky gloved hand meets your cheek, lifting your face up. Guiding you to stand and so, you do. Eyes still firmly shut, you feel hot air. Your eyes stay firmly pressed together as fear keeps your curiosity at bay.

You feel the source of the breeze growing closer. Hesitantly, his lips meet yours. Soft, delicate, like kissing him for the first time. Pure.

Slowly, carefully, you pull back. Its dark, but your eyes flutter open. You can tell its him. His face is slightly different, but his eyes are the same. Tears well but he wipes them away with his thumb. Even through his glove, you can tell something isn’t right. He feels warm sure, but less like a person, more as if he was something left too close to a fire.

Your hand meets his face, warm in the same way, his head stiff at first. Unsure. A wary smile pulls at the corner of your mouth. Softly, he leans into your palm. His eyes drifting closed, comforted by you. 

Again, he tries to speak, again, nothing comes out.

Your hand drifts down to his neck, his chest, his robes stale from the musty atmosphere but silky again as your hand meets them. The embroidery the same as it had always been beneath your fingers. You can feel him questioning you in his mind, like gears turning, trying to come to a conclusion.

You wait, hold your breath, eternities seemed to pass, then, you fell it. Soft through the robes, muffled, but, his heart is beating.

You suck a breath in. Relief washes over you. You sling your arms around his neck, throwing him off balance for a moment. You let out a soft chuckle as the two of you stumble. Face presses against his shoulder, you cling to him.

He wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in the wing like sleeves of his robes.

You pull away again, only slightly, so that you can feel your lips back on his. You can tell by the way he holds you, it is papa, warm, kind, living. He has returned. 

"Papa" you speak, your voice coming as a gasp "I missed you"

Papa tries to speak again, his voice coming but falling short at a grunt. A grin began to form on his face. Even in the dark, you can tell.

His mouth meets your neck, catching you by surprise, his hand grasps your waist and spins you so you lean against his tomb. He leaves his free hand ghosting over the opposite side of your neck, waiting for you, making sure, just like he had before, that you were willing.

"Darling, please" was all it took for his hands to start exploring you

As his mouth works your neck, one hand holds you sure around the waist as the other travels down your neck, your collarbone, but, it pauses as it felt something different just before your chest. 

You fell his hand press the metal hard to your skin as he pulls away to look. Carefully, you pull the glass front necklace from betwixt the thin cloth of the nightgown and your chest. Displayed in it, a lock of his hair.

Papas head moves down to examine the trinket dangling from your still shaking fingers. A flash of lightning illuminating his eyes as he looks back to you.

You're sure he could see the pain in your eyes as you had seen the sorrow in his.

"Papa, you were...gone" you manage "I thought I would never see you again. This was all I could do to keep you close."

Papas gloved thumb runs over the slight dome of the glass as his hand wraps around it.

Your hands drift behind you, onto the cold stone, surrendering the trinket, bracing in order to keep yourself upright.

"You were gone" you say again.

Another flash of lightning, there was something else in his eyes this time. "...h-ere.." rumbles from his throat "H-ere...now"

Your fingers have to trace the carvings in the stone behind you just to keep you steady enough to reply. "You are, you're back, papa, you've come back!"

His figure rises to his full height, looming, hand still holding the locket.

"H-here...n-now." his voice gruff. The chain feeling heavier around your neck.

"I-i...am...here" he growles, the clasp breaking as he pulls the necklace off, you can hear the glass shatter as it hits the floor behind him.

You brace yourself as his mouth finds your neck again, lips quivering, struggling to find air. His gloved hand is back where the locket stood, moving further as he presses his body closer. The glove has a strange friction against the wet material that clings to you. 

His hand leaves you, you can see him place a finger in front of his mouth before pulling the glove off with his teeth. Spitting the glove aside, the bare hand ventures further and further down. Though still deft, his fingers move at first like his hand is asleep. Slowly waking, regaining control. 

You start to pull off his robes as he explores you, needing to see, him, feel his skin, anything. Its been far too long since you’ve felt his skin against yours. Using his teeth, he removes his other glove. His hands feel like fire against you. Electric. One finds the hem of the nightgown, hiking it up as you struggle to disrobe him.

His fingers gently trace up your thigh, re-discovering. Your hands fumble on the buttons on his second set of robes. He pulls away, pulling everything but his poet shirt from his torso, tossing the robes into the tomb he had just risen from.

His face presses into the opposite side of your neck now, gently kissing and sucking, his bare hand finding itself further and further up your thigh. Dangerously high. One of his   
hands creeps up into your hair, gently pulling, further bearing your neck to him. 

"Wet..." he growls.

"It’s raining" you manage through harsh breaths. The sucking at your throat like heaven.

"No" he hisses "wet…" his finger dragging up to accentuate his point.

Your legs are jelly and you can't suppress the moan that escapes you. His hand grips your hair tighter as his petting grows heavier, his guides you to sit on the edge of the cold stone as his free hand grips your thigh. Rose petals sit under you, soft and soothing. 

All at once, the pressure from his hand leaves you.

"Papa pl-" his lips crash against yours, hot and passionate.

His hands glide back up to your chest, grazing the delicate buttons on your nightgown. You can feel his finger trace around each one he finds. His lips leave yours. He leans in closer, lips haunting the space next to your ear.

"Hungry" is all he says before tearing the thin fabric. The sound echoes through the mausoleum, accompanied by a roll of thunder. His mouth is impossibly hot against your skin, kissing further and further down, meeting where his hand had been. Your back arches as you fell his tongue, lapping at you like flames, your hands reaching for his head. Papa lifted your legs onto his shoulders as he ate, opening you up further for him, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing at your calves. 

He adjusted for a moment, not stopping his meal, hand moving so that it could work you as his tongue continued. It didn’t take long before you were shaking, he moved more feverishly, like he was possessed. His free hand adjusted one of your thighs, sliding you closer to the edge, you couldn’t do anything but say his name. It seemed there was a method to his fever, his madness, the rhythm of his fingers soon matching that of his mouth. Impossibly perfect, static. The closer his face got, the closer you got. Back arching, mouth agape, one hand griping tighter to his jet-black hair, guiding him, the other returning behind you to grip the side of his coffin.

You clutched, bucked, and lightning struck. Thunder boomed but you were seeing stars. He didn’t stop when you cried his name, only when you slumped down gasping. Papa steps back, pulling off his loose-fitting shirt as your eyes opened back up, wiping his glimmering mouth with is before it falls in a heap to the cold floor.

His chest was different than it had been before, as lightning struck again you could see the array of colours, most noticeably, a dark purple spot that spread like a cobweb on his neck.

Papas hand rubs at the spot as you continue to stare in the dark.

"Killed" he announces, a step closer, "here…now…" another step, “…for…" closer still, "you-" his hands finding their way under your legs lifting you up onto his hips.

He takes one monstrance step onto the stone, another into the coffin, laying you down on his discarded clothing. You stare up at him as he unbuttons his trousers, his robes soft beneath your fingers as you grip them. 

A bolt of light hits as his hard cock springs up, free of its confines. He steps out of his trousers, getting on all fours above you, looming, waiting. His eyes hold to yours. Firm.

"Papa...please," your hand pressing against his chest, his heart pounding against your palm "please…"

His hand slips under your waist, lifting your ass, you can feel his breath with how close he was. As strange as it is, everything feels right. 

Your hand slides down his chest, past his stomach, he groans as you grab his dripping cock. His hips following as you position him, stroking him. By the way he moves, you can tell he's eager.

"Papa," you grind your hips down slightly. Every inch of you wanting him, craving him, needing him. 

Slowly, he presses in. He sits up, the hand that had been supporting him over you meeting the other on your ass. He moves in slightly, then continues to slowly drag back out. 

Back in, a little deeper, then slowly back out. 

It seems like a game to him, but you can tell he is just as desperate for you as you are him. When he finally bottoms out, he just holds you in place. Your hips try to get friction, but, his grip around you tightens.

“Greedy” he warns. 

You stop moving your hips.

“Good” he coos.

One hands grip loosens as it traces your skin for a moment, you can practically feel his heartbeat through his cock and hear yours in your ears. Your head swims. 

"Good " he praises again, his hand moving to your abdomen. He looks at you, his hand again wandering down, down. His cock buried deep, his hand starts to work around you again. He seems to drag his finger everywhere except where you need it most.

"Please," you beg. “Darling, please.”

His hand deserts you again. A finger pops into his mouth for a moment, you can see the shine as it leaves his lips. Practically dripping. He gently rubs, it’s like a shock through your body, but his hand keeps you steady. After he finds a good rhythm, you feel his hips begin to slowly roll. You can feel the fingers on the hand at your ass gripping you harder as he picks his pace up. You clutch harder to the robes beneath you. His hand leaves your crotch as he lowers himself back over you, kissing your neck, moving faster and faster. His elbow resting back beside your head.

"Ride." he growls.

Before you can process what is going on, he flips you on top of him. His cock fills you differently this way, an unneeded but welcomed change. His hands find a place on your hips, never giving you a break from the grinding, guiding you, your hands find themselves on the edges of the coffin to keep you steady. You adjust your legs slightly before gently starting to roll back against him. He grunts as you meet his thrusts. Pushing down as he lifts up. Your head tilting back as you ride. 

"Faster." he grunts again, happily, you comply. With his hands supporting some of your weight, it is all too easy to ride him, though other things are wildly hard. 

A couple times you let out loud moans as he hits a sweet spot within you, his eyebrow rise as he watches, intrigued. Your eyes drop back down to meet his.

"Show...Where…" he demands, tone harsh.

He angles his hips slowly in different ways until almost every one of his thrusts hit home. His knees bend slightly so that on every fall and rise the head of his cock strokes the sweet spot. You can hardly hear the storm over the sounds filling the mausoleum. Sounds bouncing off the walls as you bounce on Papa. 

"Close…" he groans, hand again leaving your hip to stroke you again. He only needs to dip his thumb down a moment for it to be wet enough to press and stroke just the right way. 

"Fuck, yes," you respond, you know you aren’t far off either. Each stroke, each grind, every bit of friction building a pit in your core. Your hand presses back to his chest, you can feel his heart drumming.

"Here... now...for you…" his hips moving faster, you begin to feel weightless. His hand speeds up, your back arches, each thrust hitting just right, the combination of everything growing unbearable.

Lightning flashes, colours erupting around you. 

"Come...now...for me…" he demands as his cock keeps driving "Now!"

You can’t help but listen. Thunder crashes as you come undone, you can feel him coming too, hot, loud, not once slowing down. Everything electric. It’s like lightning striking you. Even without all of his voice his moans are music. You collapse onto his hot chest.

"Fuck" you whisper, breathing hard.

"Again?" he says through gasps and a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hope you enjoyed, if you have any feedback the comments are always open!


End file.
